


Yours All Knight

by misura



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jaime Lannister Lives, Late Night Conversations, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21721174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: Jaime has some trouble sleeping the night before his wedding, what with the way people keep dropping by to threaten his life if he messes this up.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 11
Kudos: 92





	Yours All Knight

"You are my brother and I love you, but I swear to you now, if you harm one hair on Sansa Stark's head, I will have you killed," Tyrion said. "That poor girl's been through enough."

Jaime stared at him. He'd been about to go to bed and lie awake while trying not to think about tomorrow, and dealing with Tyrion could be tricky at the best of times.

"Also, I brought wine. And two cups." Tyrion held up the objects in question. "So. Drinks?"

"You're the fourth one, you know," Jaime said. Getting drunk the day before his wedding seemed at once like a very, very bad idea and a very, very good one.

"Save the best for last - isn't that what they say?" Tyrion beamed at him, then frowned. "Arya's back, then? Haven't seen her around."

"I believe that's the general idea," Jaime said. _One wrong move,_ she'd told him. _One._

She hadn't actually told him what would happen if he made that move, and Jaime had judged it best not to ask, to stand at least _some_ chance of getting a good night's sleep.

"I half-expected Ned Stark's ghost to show up next," he added.

"Happily, it was only me, your dear, beloved brother," Tyrion said, refilling his own cup. "Ned Stark's ghost will have to wait his turn."

"I don't - " Jaime started, then changed his mind. "I'm not some sort of monster, you know."

"Yes," Tyrion said, almost kindly. "I know. We all know. You're a fool and an idiot and you've committed several acts of unparallelled folly, but you're not a monster. What's more, you love her."

"And she's - " Jaime sought for the right word. _'Everything,'_ would cover it, only that wasn't the point he wanted to make here.

"Beautiful?" Tyrion suggested.

"Tough!" Jaime said. "And brave and smart and yes, beautiful, and why, exactly, is it that even my own brother thinks she needs to be protected? From me? Are we talking about the same Sansa here? Queen in the North? Lady of Winterfell? That Sansa?"

You didn't say that sort of thing to the lady's brother, of course, or her sister. Still, Jaime sort of felt Tyrion should have been on _his_ side, inasfar as there were any sides. Which there weren't; everyone was simply a bit tense, a bit wound up, and as soon as the wedding was over, things would go back to normal, except that Jaime would be a married man.

Not King in the North or Lord of Winterfell, thank the Seven for small mercies. An honorary Stark, though. One of them. If that thought didn't drag Ned Stark's ghost back to the world of the living, Jaime figured nothing would.

(Well. Perhaps the man had earned his rest.)

"So what you're saying is, I should take my wine and my cups and go tell Sansa about all the terrible things I won't actually do to her if she - oh, I don't know, uses her queenly powers to take advantage of poor, innocent you?" Tyrion asked. "Is that what you're saying?"

"All things considered, I'd say it's a bit late for that particular conversation," Jaime said.

"Yes. I suppose it rather is." Tyrion looked thoughtful. "Besides of which, I'm reasonably sure you've never been poor in your life. As for innocent - well, let's not bring our sister into this conversation."

"By all means," Jaime said. _'If it had been_ your _sister, wouldn't you have gone back for her, too?'_ he'd asked Sansa, one of the few times they'd talked about Cersei, and she'd looked at him and said, _'I would do anything for Arya,'_ , which Jaime suspected hadn't actually meant 'yes', but then she'd kissed him, and he'd decided to drop the subject.

"Just - " Tyrion hesitated. "Make her happy. She deserves happiness."

"Yes," Jaime said, because saying he planned to do his best felt like it might be a bit too honest, even for Tyrion. "She does. More wine?"

Sansa looked - _delicious,_ Jaime tried not to think, as she stood in the door opening, blinking at him. She'd been sleeping, meaning he'd woken her up. Meaning that every second he remained standing here, he risked being seen by some vengeful Stark sibling and promptly skewered for his inconsiderate behavior.

"Terribly sorry about this," he said. "It's just that Tyrion's sound asleep in my room. Drunk," he added. "So I thought - that is to say, I hoped - "

"We're not married yet, you know," Sansa said, and oh yes, that was the Queen in the North looking at him, all right.

"Trust me, right now, I am very much aware of that," Jaime said.

"You can't expect - " Sansa blushed, a little less Queen in the North and a bit more ... a blushing bride? The thought appealed, but Jaime also tried not to let it tempt him into doing anything too rash.

"Never," he said. He got down on one knee. Tyrion would have laughed, or smirked at least, but it felt right, to kneel in front of the woman who was, after all, his queen as well as his future wife. "I have no expectations. Only hopes."

"And wishes." Blushing no longer. "Desires."

Jaime decided not to mention that she looked like she might have a few desires of her own. If she did, she might tell him when she chose to do so. He had no intention of presuming. That way, a swift and certain death lay.

"I humbly throw myself upon your mercy, my lady," he said.

"Winterfell does have a number of guest rooms," Sansa said. "One of them might suit you." Her smile gave away the game a bit, but Jaime decided to act as if he hadn't seen. "Unless - "

"Unless?" he asked.

Sansa sighed. "We shouldn't. The wedding's tomorrow. We can't - "

"Practice?" Jaime suggested. He dared a grin.

Sansa snorted. "And I bet your feet have gone all cold by now, and you know I hate cold feet."

"Then, perhaps a guest room is best indeed," Jaime said, careful not to sound the least insincere. (He didn't think he was fooling her for even a moment, but one felt obliged to make the effort.)

Sansa took one step back. Jaime suppressed any urge he felt to follow her without an explicit invitation.

 _'I'm not some sort of monster,'_ he'd told Tyrion, but he knew that under the wrong circumstances, any man might seem like another Ramsay Bolton, any male body like that of a rapist, unwanted and unwelcome and an enemy.

And he knew that Arya and Jon (and Tyrion, but that went without saying) were right, to view him as a threat, as someone who might as easily add to the damage as help with the healing.

Sansa smiled. "Arya really scared you, huh? You can get up now, by the way."

Jaime rose. His feet probably _were_ cold, he thought. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Liar." Sansa took another step back. "Well? Are you coming, or are you just going to keep standing there?"


End file.
